I was recently reading Hugh Honour’s Neo-Classicism (part of Penguin’s excellent Style and Civilization series from the ’60s and ’70s) and not enjoying it very much. The book is fine, but the topic was less than scintillating. I guess it depends on your tolerance for sentimental art about civic duty. Then I was jolted awake by a short passage in the epilogue:
Category Archives: Bohemia
I guess the Washington Square Institute thought they were making up for my previous therapist when they assigned me a new one who looked like Jay Leno. I wasn’t a fan of the TV show but found it encouraging that my new shrink seemed more amused than concerned by my problems.
Things went well enough the first few months. Sure, he had a few annoying quirks, such as only taking notes when I happened to mention a dream, or always pointing out with a titter the double meaning of the expression “it’s hard.” (To this day I still say “it’s difficult” because of him.) But such are the hazards of psychotherapy.
I recently found a classmate on Facebook from the time I went to art school in London back in the early 90s. She was bringing me up to date on some of the people I met there, and she said “and of course Alison Goldfrapp became famous.” My friend was surprised that I hadn’t realized we had gone to school with the lead singer of Goldfrapp. She said she had a story about me and Goldfrapp that she would tell me when she had more time.
I was of course excited, imagining all sorts of fantastic scenarios in which I impressed a young pop star-to-be. A month went by without a word from my friend. Seeing that the band was coming to New York, I emailed her begging to hear the story. I now wish I hadn’t.